


Pipe Dreams Become Viral Memories

by Futsin



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Body Horror, G-Virus (Resident Evil), Monsters, Transformation, Virus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-23 05:48:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23373283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Futsin/pseuds/Futsin
Summary: The inner mindset of William Birkin, when all is lost, and the only decision is to become what he has created.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	Pipe Dreams Become Viral Memories

He could smell the gunpowder and burning flesh, knowing with certainty that this many bullet wounds would kill him. There was a feeling more akin to disappointment than sadness at this realization, that he would let himself, the world, down, by dying in such a pathetic manner. One he had doomed others to, no less. William Birkin silently chuckled in his haze of physical agony, pondering whether the thoughts and feelings he experienced in that moment were the same as his mentor, who suffered this same fate. Irony, William thought, catches us all in the end, doesn’t it?

It took him another moment to realize the syringe that was still in his pocket. He felt it when his body shifted on reflex and he felt the glass. A vial of the G-Virus… the perfect biological weapon, the one he had spent almost his entire life working on, that would transform life completely… yes. The idea came quickly and he ran the scenario in his head. Annette… she would come back and find him dead. Sherry would lose her father. This much was certain, yes. But Umbrella did not deserve this masterpiece and their soldiers were then running off with it, no doubt almost to the factory exit. But Birkin could stop them. He could keep the most powerful thing on Earth, as transformative as the atom bomb, from getting back to the company. All he had to do was become a monster and he could make one final statement– _no, you don’t get to have that._

The needle’s tiny opening let loose with the purple fluid in the syringe, sending its complicated contents through into Birkin’s bloodstream. It was quick, a sensation of tingling ripples through his body, the virus working like spiders making a million webs inside his body at once. Rewriting him. _Changin_ g him. He had begun to black out by the time he’d injected himself and now he could see through red-tinted eyes, flickers of light – first thinking it was his vision going, but realizing it was an awareness of the fluorescent tubes and their crackling chemical reaction. He took a breath, fast, and raised his head with the gesture. A gasp went into his body and it made his lungs fill deeper than he’d ever felt them in his life. They pulsed. His organs gurgled. They shifted in size.

Then, his bones began to crack and twist. It caused him to slump over on his side, head turning to look down at his legs, seeing them twist. His skin broke, blood flowing, as the bones in his body broke from the swelling of tissue, then started to rebuild even stronger than before. Some of the bullets still left in his chest rose to the surface and popped from his body. His hand holding the syringe started to crunch and crack, same as his legs, but he could see on his skin that the color was shifting, pulsing. Veins swelled with new blood and filled with nutrients to grow, change, adapt. His fingers were unrecognizable after another minute, forcing his wedding band into a mangled bit of gold on the floor. The thought came to him, _Annette… you’ll know what to do when you find me._

Whence he woke, Birkin’s immediate thought rushed to the front of his mind. Kill them all. Kill every single last one of them. He stood up on slimy swollen feet and the tatters of his navy blue pants and constriction of his boots shuffled. Shreds of white shirt and lab coat flapped against the raw flesh that had begun to grow like tumors on his torso. The virus was doing its job, replicating and causing the body to expand in size and scope, adapting quickly to situations and environment, be it to become bulletproof or to expand for more defensive capabilities. One arm was a slacker that he could barely feel, too much bloodloss and nerve damage… it would take time to recover. But, he could stand, and he could move. And he could kill.


End file.
